


“Looking Good and Lifting Stuff”

by thatsrightdollface



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Lucio's Route Spoilers, Moving Company, Other, Spoilers, Spoilers for Lucio's Upright Ending update, You've been warned, this is goofy and self-serving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Montag Morgasson runs a moving company.  You've hired him to help get your magic shop things across town.
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	“Looking Good and Lifting Stuff”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SearchingForMercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingForMercury/gifts).



> So....... 
> 
> 1\. This is gifted to my friend Jen, 'cause she got me into "The Arcana" and we talked a lot about Lucio just recently!!! Hi Jen, ily!!!  
> 2\. This was inspired by that line in Lucio's Upright Ending update: "That's what I'm here for. Looking good and lifting stuff." It reminded me of the "College Hunks Hauling Junk" moving company name, and stuff like that, and so here we have a goofy AU!!! :')  
> 3\. Also.... Lucio's "I am the very model of a fabulous adventurer" song had me laughing. "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General," from "The Pirates of Penzance....." Oh my God. I put it on my phone, now.  
> 4\. I'm sorry for anything and everything I might've messed up!!!  
> 5\. I hope you're staying safe and doing as well as possible!!!!

When you found yourself searching for the ideal moving company to help you drag all your magic shop things across town, just recently, there had only really been one clear winner. The company owner: one Montag Morgasson, whose photo on the official website comes complete with a wink and an overflowing shot glass tipped towards the camera. Montag’s wearing at least three enormous gaudy gold-and-ruby rings in that photo, but scroll a little ways down the page and there’s another picture of him playing fetch with a pair of rambunctious silky white dogs. Those twin dogs are all over the company’s website, actually — posing by a moving box, and surrounded by knots of twisting rose-brambles, shaped like the sort of gate you’d see in a palace garden. The whole organization’s motto is _“Looking Good and Lifting Stuff — It’s What We’re Here For!”_

That motto got you snickering down at your phone, and so, of course, you hired them. And now, they’re here. Montag’s actually just texted you that their truck’s outside and waiting for you to let them in, to be more specific. He included a lot of “sparkle” emojis, along with a house you think is meant to represent your new magic shop. Your roommate/business partner/best friend Asra has already expressed mixed feelings about your taste in moving companies, but he’s agreed to trust your judgement. Most of Montag’s _especially awful_ reviews are from years ago, anyway. It really looks like he’s trying to turn his act around. 

Montag Morgasson made some mistakes, to get him where he is today: sitting in a moving truck outside your shop, singing along to a song from _The Pirates of Penzance_ to the abject horror of one of his employees, mostly because he hasn’t seemed to realize you’re clearing your throat from the sidewalk outside. You hurried downstairs to let him in, after all; his employee is gently swatting his arm, apparently saying, “Monty? Monty!” or something, unless your lip-reading abilities are way off. Montag’s phone is loose in his golden prosthetic hand. He grins hugely when he sees you, and throws the truck door open.

“Not every day I get to do a job for such a cute magician!” Montag tells you. “So, where do you want us to start?”

There’s something tired in the twist of his lip, and something wild... rash and vulnerable, unselfconscious and swaggering... in his voice. You think if you tried reading Montag’s cards right now, he wouldn’t want you to describe whatever meaning came up for his past. He and his employee work diligently, heaving your custom mosaic counters and glass cabinets out into their truck, carefully stacking potions and powders in boxes, all that. They wrap everything in bubble-wrap, and Montag labels your possessions with huge block letters. “VIALS OR SOMETHING.” “WEIRD LITTLE FLOWERS.” “I THINK MAYBE THIS IS TEA?” He and his employee chat loudly, and although you’re supposed to be working, yourself — you have orders to fill, even on a moving day, and you’re supposed to drop off some salves for the bakery owner across the street — you wind up pulled into a conversation or two. You learn Montag’s dogs’ names: Mercedes and Melchior. You learn that his mom kicked him out of the family business at eighteen, with absolutely no warning, though Montag doesn’t seem to really want his employee to tell you that. He says he was “a little shit” back then, and flushes red. His employee assures you that although Montag is _nominally_ the boss at their moving company, he isn’t the only one calling the shots anymore. He flicks Montag’s arm playfully, about then, and Montag shoves him back. Gently. Smiling. 

You tell Montag about the jobs you’re supposed to do today, and he calls you “amazing.” Says he tried to attend a magical university a while back, like the kind you graduated from, but... but his skills’ve always sorta been _elsewhere_. He’s good in a fight; he can lift Asra’s snake’s entire multi-level enclosure up without it seeming too difficult at all. See?

Seriously, are you watching?

Impressive, right?

Truthfully, you end up sitting and talking with Montag and his employee for _ages_. You hear him on the phone, trying to see if he can wheedle out of his next appointment (he can’t) by the end of things. Before he disappears to drop off all your stuff in the new shop — “Don’t worry, I won’t break anything! We’re gonna be careful!” — you tell him why you chose to hire _his_ moving company and he preens a little bit. He knew that was a good motto, after all. You learn Montag’s favorite movies, too — lots of action-y stuff and historical dramas featuring the mythic adventurer Count Lucio, though he loves a good comedy as long as he feels in on the joke — and tell him about something you’ve been interested in seeing. Something Asra isn’t too excited about, but might go along with to humor you this weekend. 

Montag takes a swig of sweet iced coffee, when you tell him about that movie... you brewed some a while in, after getting back from dropping off those salves at the bakery... and runs a hand through his golden hair. It’s sweaty, now, and you’ve noticed him spritzing himself with cologne a few times. He probably thinks he’s very subtle. His smile is a little crooked, but definitely aiming for “cocky” and “smooth.”

“Hey, if Asra’s not interested, that’s his loss, right? Someone else could always go with you. I mean. _I_ could always...?” 

You snort a laugh and tell him he doesn’t have to go out of his way or anything — you just met, after all — but Montag’s serious. He says he should probably buy you popcorn or something in exchange for the coffee, at the very least. The minute he says it, a look crosses his face like he’s realized he could get himself in trouble. Maybe he’s coming on too strong; maybe this is another mistake; maybe it really _is_ unprofessional to call the magician who hired you “cute.” You resist the urge to tap Montag’s chin, clicking his mouth closed. You tell him going to a movie together sounds fun, honestly. 

“Yeah?” Montag asks, smile suddenly back. A light switched on; a roiling snowy sky cleared. “You already have my number, so you can text me anytime, okay?”

If you Googled Montag Morgasson’s name, you’d learn a lot about his arrests, and his debts. You’d learn about his family’s disreputable business, nicknamed “the Scourge of the South” by competitors across the continent. You’d learn how he got his prosthetic arm — the bar fight where he’d been hurt made the news in multiple cities! – and what his famous artist ex-wife has to say about him. But you know you won’t Google Montag, if we’re honest, here; you’ll learn his stories the way he gives them to you. You want to see him again. It might be stupid — _Asra_ , for one, definitely seems dubious — but soon enough you text Montag a barcode screencap of his movie ticket for that Saturday night. 

“Is the time alright?” you ask. “I could always exchange these.”

Montag responds that no, the time is perfect, with a few more of those “sparkle” emojis he seems to like so much. And then his employee steals the phone, and messages, “Monty isn’t supposed to text on the job — but he’ll be there. What time do you want him to pick you up?”

You and Montag’s employee collectively decide on “five-thirty-ish.” So you can get dinner first, see. 


End file.
